


The 19th Century - As Told By A (Slightly Incompetent) Angel and Demon

by Phoenix_Rose



Series: History - As Described By a (Slightly Incompetent) Angel and Demon [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are in love - they're just too dumb to notice, Brief mentions of suicide, Crowley's Century-Long Nap (Good Omens), Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 19:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19383076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Rose/pseuds/Phoenix_Rose
Summary: Anathema finally got a good look at him.  And she frowned a little, confused.  He was…  Bumpier, than usual.  Aziraphale followed her gaze and flashed her an amused grin.  He lifted the edge of his jumper.“Is that…?”“Crowley?”  He let the wool fall back over the black snake wrapped around his middle with a laugh.  “Yes.  His heating broke, poor dear.  It’s too cold for him to stay in his apartment at the moment.  I believe there’s someone going to fix it tomorrow.”





	The 19th Century - As Told By A (Slightly Incompetent) Angel and Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Edited 13/07/19 to include linked footnotes

The bell rang out and, not thirty seconds later, so did Aziraphale’s voice, harder than Anathema had ever heard it: “I’m afraid we’re closed!”

“It’s just me, Azi!” Anathema called out, walking through to the back room.

Aziraphale leapt to his feet and hurried over, “Oh, my dear girl, it _is_ good to see you.  Is it still snowing?  Was it very difficult for you to get down here?  Ah,” he looked at her drenched clothes and clicked his fingers, “there we go.”

A rush of warmth flooded through her from the feet up and she smiled.  “Thank you.”

 

She finally got a good look at him.  And she frowned a little, confused.  He was…  Bumpier, than usual.  Aziraphale followed her gaze and flashed her an amused grin.  He lifted the edge of his jumper.

“Is that…?”

“Crowley?”  He let the wool fall back over the black snake wrapped around his middle with a laugh.  “Yes.  His heating broke, poor dear.  It’s too cold for him to stay in his apartment at the moment.  I believe there’s someone going to fix it tomorrow.”

“I see.  But why is he there?”

“We’re sharing body heat,” Aziraphale said, grinning again, a smile that lit up his whole face in delight.  “Crowley was watching some documentaries not long ago and heard about it.  He said the blanket wasn’t quite doing it, and that this would work better.”

“I see,” she said slowly, taking off her scarf.

“Yes, well, come along, dear.  I was just making hot chocolate - would you like some?”

 

Armed with hot chocolate and marshmallows, Anathema was already feeling a lot warmer.  Aziraphale, somehow, had never looked more angelic than when curled in his favourite seat, holding a white, angel-wing cup in both hands to get as much heat out as possible.  After a few minutes of small talk, Crowley’s head emerged from the jumper, at eye-level with Aziraphale.  The angel blinked, “Yes, my dear?  Did you want something?”  Crowley hissed at him - not an angry hiss.  Just a hiss.  Aziraphale frowned in confusion before his expression cleared.  “Do you want hot chocolate?”

Crowley hissed again.  Anathema could guess what it meant.

Aziraphale smiled at him.  “You’ll have to change back to drink it, though.”  Could snakes whine?  In any case, Crowley certainly could, and did.  Anathema raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.  “As long as you get out of my jumper, my dear, you’re perfectly welcome to stay where you are.  You’re not that heavy, nothing a little miracle can’t help with, and I’ll just fetch us a blanket.”  In a blink, Aziraphale had a lapful of demon.  He nodded with satisfaction and snapped his fingers.  The match to Aziraphale’s mug - a black, demon-wing cup - appeared on the table, just close enough for Crowley to reach.  The demon hummed contentedly and buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said gently, miracling a blanket to cover them.

 

Anathema waited a moment for Crowley’s breathing to even out a little, like he was asleep, before speaking.  “Does this happen a lot?”

“Crowley falling asleep?”  Aziraphale laughed.  “He’s practically the demon of sloth!”

“I’m not asleep, yet,” Crowley groused, his words a little slurred by exhaustion.  “And I'm not the demon of sloth.  ‘M a demon of… everything.  Gotta think big, Angel.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale said sweetly.  He’d abandoned his hot chocolate in favour of having one arm around Crowley’s waist and one hand slowly stroking the curls at his nape.  “The 19th Century was just a one-off.”

Crowley thought about this for a moment and settled on blowing a loud, sleepy raspberry.  Aziraphale beamed at him.

“Are you telling me…?”  Anathema took a sip of hot chocolate.  “It sounds a lot like you slept right through the 1800s.”

Aziraphale sighed dramatically.  “He did.  I had to entertain myself for a whole century.”

Anathema squinted hard at him.  There was something in his voice that sounded a little… strained.

“Not true,” Crowley insisted.  “I had a bathroom break in 1832.”

 

Anathema finished the last of her hot chocolate and drew up her knees to rest her chin on them.  “So… Why, exactly, did you sleep that long?”

What happened next was… strange.  Aziraphale’s hand tightened, just for a moment, in Crowley’s hair, before he forced himself to relax.  Crowley, meanwhile, tensed up completely.  “Felt like it,” he said defensively.

Aziraphale smiled sadly and tried, discreetly, to have the demon relax a little.  “Of course, dear.  Everybody loves a nap.”

“Sorry,” Anathema said quickly.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.  You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s not your fault, my dear girl.  It’s just…”  He coughed a little.  “We had a little… tiff.”

“A tiff,” Anathema repeated slowly.

Crowley snorted.  Aziraphale twitched a little, the demon’s breath tickling his neck, and poked him in the ribs as revenge.   Crowley narrowly avoided giggling [1] and said, “It wasn’t a tiff, Angel.  It was a fight.”

“I, ah…”  He grimaced, “Yes, I suppose it was a fight, wasn’t it.”

“You fight?”  Anathema shook her head: “You don’t seem the fighting type.”

“Oh, we’ve fought quite well, once or twice.  Got a few discoroporations under our belts, haven’t we, dear?”   Crowley nodded silently. [2]  “And this…  Well, I fear it was my fault.  I think I got my wires crossed, a little.”

“Just a little,” Crowley repeated, a little mockingly.  Aziraphale looked at him reproachfully.

“He asked for Holy Water, and I…  Misinterpreted why.”

“I wanted a weapon, and he thought it was a suicide pill,” Crowley translated.

 

“In my defence,” Aziraphale said, a little hotly, “you’ve never really been the kind for killing people.”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley huffed sarcastically, “but I was in the habit of committing suicide.” [3] 

Aziraphale stayed silent and tightened his arm around Crowley’s waist.  Anathema couldn’t see Crowley’s face, but she could imagine what it looked like when he said slowly, “Angel?”

“You-!  I mean-!”  Aziraphale took a breath.  “You’re the demon who continually sought out the company of an angel, my dear.  Even after I smote you the first few times, and that incident with the Heavenly Form.  I was… Concerned.  Worried.  About you.  I thought...”

“You thought I wanted a suicide pill,” Crowley sighed, untangling himself so he could draw back a little and look Aziraphale in the eyes.

“I know,” Aziraphale said mournfully.  “I really am sorry, dear boy.  I should have trusted you enough…”  He scrunched up his nose and looked away.  “I was being selfish.  I...  Didn’t want to think of losing you.”

Crowley stared at him silently for a moment before settling himself back against his chest.  “Drink your chocolate, Angel.  I promise I’m not going to leave you.”

 

Anathema revised her view of when Aziraphale seemed his most angelic.  Right now, right this moment, looking down at Crowley as his breathing evened out, he was positively radiant.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Crowley _was_ a little ticklish, but he didn’t permit anyone but Aziraphale to know this.  Anathema must never know. [return to text]
> 
> 2 He’d never admit it to anyone, but he was a little - just a little - sour that Aziraphale had a few more victories under his belt than he did.  The whole holy wrath thing… it did work rather well in his favour. Annoyingly. [return to text]
> 
> 3 The effect of their irritation was rather dampened by the fact Crowley was still clinging to Aziraphale like a particularly determined climbing vine, and Aziraphale was still running his hand through Crowley’s hair, leaving it stuck up in a way that he’d never have normally permitted.  In truth, Anathema thought, they looked rather adorable. [return to text]


End file.
